History
by tastewithouttalent
Summary: "From the intensity of Kuroko's gaze the question is important, but Kagami's memory is a haze of effort and exhaustion and panic and victory and he isn't sure what Kuroko's referring to." Kuroko is worried and Kagami is sincere. Part 3 and final of the Moonlight series. Sequel to Shaking.


Kuroko is easy to find.

By the time Kagami looked up from the delighted camaraderie sweeping through the team, the smaller boy was out of sight, and not just because of his misdirection. Kagami has become something of an inadvertent expert at spotting the other boy; it's a trick of unfocusing his eyes, looking for color instead of an actual _person_, and he is absolutely certain there's no pale blue anywhere in the room right now. Of course, if Kuroko's not with him there's only a few places the other boy could be, and Kagami checks the most obvious first.

The basketball court is patterned in moonlight; it's not unfamiliar lighting, not anymore, and Kagami is certain he's right in his guess even before he makes it around the corner and sees Kuroko sitting on the bench on the sidelines. For his part Kuroko is so unsurprised he doesn't look up at Kagami's approach; he's got a basketball in his hands, but he's not doing anything with it other than tensing his fingers idly against the pattern. He doesn't move even when the redhead settles onto the bench alongside him, even when Kagami shifts his legs so his knee bumps against the smaller boy's.

There's a moment of silence. Kagami doesn't really have anything to say; he wasn't looking for a conversational partner as much as the comfort of Kuroko's presence, silent or not. After a moment Kuroko offers him the basketball and he accepts it, bounces it idly between his feet so the steady thud of the ball echoes his heartbeat.

"Kagami-kun."

The redhead is half-expecting the sound of Kuroko's voice; the motion of the ball doesn't pause, but he glances sideways at Kuroko anyway. The other boy is watching him, his eyes doing that funny glowing thing they do at night when they swallow up all the light of the surroundings. It makes Kagami smile, but he doesn't speak, just holds Kuroko's gaze to indicate he's listening.

"Did you mean what you said in there?"

From the intensity of Kuroko's gaze - he's barely blinking - the question is important, but Kagami's memory is a haze of effort and exhaustion and panic and victory and he isn't sure what Kuroko's referring to. "What d'you mean?"

"About Himuro not being important to you anymore."

Kuroko has a knack for saying embarrassing things without batting an eye. It's a little impressive but mostly just makes Kagami flush instead of the smaller boy; he looks away, lifts the basketball to toss it at the hoop. From the distance he's at he doesn't make it, of course, and as soon as he's thrown it he realizes the moment of delay was purchased at the expense of something to fiddle with for the rest of the conversation.

"Uh." He looks down. His hands look empty, now, without anything to hold. "I meant it at the time."

"Do you still?" Kuroko's voice is very level. Kagami can't tell if he's angry or hopeful, isn't sure what he's supposed to say, so he swallows and settles on honesty.

"No." It comes out louder than he intends, more aggressive with worry than he expects, and he flinches back from the sound of his own voice.

"Good."

It's not what he was expecting and it's the only thing that could persuade Kagami to look over at Kuroko. The other boy is still watching him, his eyes are still inscrutable and pale, but his mouth is very faintly turned up at the corners, the expression touching his face with amusement.

"I don't want you to sacrifice your past for me," Kuroko says, like that means something more than the poetry of the words on his lips. "I like you the way you are, with your history too."

Kagami can't think at all for a minute. "What?"

"You were talking about your future with the team," Kuroko says. He's still not blinking. "You don't have to give up your past in order to have a future with us."

When Kuroko looks away Kagami thinks he's done with whatever point he was trying to make, that they can go home and the redhead can wait to try to unravel the meaning until later, when Kuroko is breathing slow in sleep beside him. Which means the tension is just untangling from his shoulders when the other boy speaks again.

"Or a future with me." Kagami's gaze snaps back to Kuroko's face but Kuroko's not looking at him; he's leaning forward over his knees, staring at his hands, and Kagami is just realizing that he's seeing _nerves_, that Kuroko is wound tight with fright, when the other boy goes on. "If you want that." He shrugs and it's like Kagami has had the understanding poured directly into his brain: he can see the deliberate flippancy in the motion, the implication of casual disinterest and the sincere panic underneath it that's drawing Kuroko's body tense.

Kagami opens his mouth to babble something, maybe to shout - how can Kuroko not _know_ what he wants at this point? But something stops his throat, something about the way Kuroko's not looking at him and the way the other boy's chewing on his lower lip, and the irritation fades out of him.

"Hey." He slides in closer, until the whole length of his leg is pressed up against Kuroko's. The smaller boy lets him but he's still not looking up, his shoulders are still hunched up defensively around his ears. "Thanks." He clears his throat. "That's good to know." His brain is skidding out on thoughts, considering and rejecting options too fast for him to settle on anything halfway coherent. "Cause I do want that." His face is flushed red but Kuroko's not looking at him, so he turns his face up to the sky and coughs again in a futile attempt to smooth out the roughness in his throat. "You. A future with you."

There is no way he just said that. It doesn't matter that he said it once before, that was in the heat of the moment and he meant the _team_, definitely, that is _definitely_ what he meant. But it doesn't matter anyway, because he didn't just say it, so there's no reason for him to flush blistering hot underneath the summertime tan of his skin.

"Good." Kuroko's voice is very soft, so quiet Kagami can barely hear it, but there's weird heat under it that he's not used to hearing from the smaller boy. "Me too."

Kagami clears his throat, pushes himself to his feet because he _cannot_ stay still, not with this much embarrassment and nervous energy coursing through him. "Good." He's talking loud to cover up the shake in his voice when he reaches out to ruffle Kuroko's hair but all that does is make the way it cracks when Kuroko leans in against his hip more audible. "Every light has to have a shadow, right?"

Kuroko laughs against his hip, and Kagami doesn't look at him because he's pretty sure Kuroko's crying, and he doesn't ever want to see Kuroko crying again. But when he tips his chin up to the stars his own eyes are damp, and when his fingers feather into Kuroko's hair he starts smiling without realizing it.


End file.
